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11.5k · Apr 2014
Obscured Reflection.
MC Hammered Apr 2014
There's more
wine
in the glass than
ink
in the
pen.

A truly conflicted
narcissist
upon
obscured
reflection.

Beauty.
Skin deep?
I'll carve
manifestos
in
flesh
when the wells run
dry.

Trace each
scar
with
shaking
fingertips and
blind
eyes.
11.1k · Feb 2013
Pythagorean Theorems.
MC Hammered Feb 2013
Focus.

Linear
equations.

Quadratic
functions.

Pythagorean
theorems.

Sunshine sacrificed for
symmetry.
Daylight dropped for
diameter.

Windows that confine.
Tease.
It's the way yearning clouds hug lonely
trees.

It's how the sun
graces
all with
perfect, gentle hands.

The passion behind these
eyes
are hungry for
escape.

Focus.
8.8k · Dec 2013
Taste.
MC Hammered Dec 2013
Nectar of the forbidden fruit must be
nicotine laced, codeine
based.

Powder trace mirror reflecting on broken
face.
Just one taste.

Lips taut, set perfectly in place.
Whiskey shot with whiskey
chase.


Her armor?
Cold eyes, *Arsenic, and Old
Lace.
6.4k · Jun 2014
Bitter
MC Hammered Jun 2014
You're like winter to me now,
bitter and frozen.

Wrapped up in layers of unfamiliar
fabrics and smells.

Distant summer scorching.

There are still grains of sand in your shoes
but the first frost has
long passed.
4.1k · Jun 2014
Barefoot
MC Hammered Jun 2014
Walking barefoot down rocky dirt paths.
Kicking up clouds of dust with each step,
testing the thickness of my soles soul,
I found comfort in the pain of each sharp stone,
digging deep. Comfort in pessimistic understanding.
Knowing, the next wouldn't hurt as bad.
Wounds turn to callus. Hardened skin, hardens within.
Each weathered scar, reminder of hard earned strength.
Ritual of self inflicted mutilation by choice, rocky dirt path
by fate. Walking, walking, still. Still barefoot
down rocky, dirt paths.
3.4k · Dec 2013
Shadows Staring Silently.
MC Hammered Dec 2013
I am the
fleeting darkness
after the lights flicker off.
Shrouding shadows.

I am the
ever present
feeling of hidden eyes.
Secretly staring.

I am the
ominous, cold jolt
branching up shaking spines.
Striking silently.
3.0k · Dec 2014
Goddess
MC Hammered Dec 2014
Maiden,
New beginnings sprout in feminine Earth.
Legs rooted in blossoming
Spring.
Newborn innocence cultivates in
raw purity.

Mother,
essence of life,
predecessor of power.
Like fruit ripening in preparation of harvest.
Fertile fulfillment found in
abundance.

Crone,
a culmination of earned experience,
compassionate wisdom.
Cold winter bears bereavement.
Change in continuous
cycle.

~

Mother earth,
complexion of cosmos.
My celestial
creator.
Maiden, mother, crone. Woman.
Goddess.
MC Hammered Dec 2014
Suitcase filled, gas tank
full, the keys have been returned.
Finally, left you.
2.9k · Nov 2014
Transparency
MC Hammered Nov 2014
Lips say he's different
now.
Drunk eyes reveal no
change.

~

My knees did not
buckle
At your matured tastes in blues and
bourbon,

my heart did when you didn't
recognize
the gleam of your own
reflection.
2.6k · Dec 2014
Please,
MC Hammered Dec 2014
Your name,

Pain. Demanding, sadistic

strength.

Mine? *******.

Skin, impermeable. Scarred

issues, inevitable.

Please, sir? Yes,

sir.
2.2k · Oct 2016
Café Choreography
MC Hammered Oct 2016
A well-rehearsed dance,
the waltzing waitress tosses The Times
on table 1 as if she’ll actually finish
the Sunday crossword this morning.
She won’t.

Grease lined lights flicker on one
by one.
Like spotlights on a stage.
It’s show time.

Twostepping while taking down chairs,
she flows to the rhythm of ritual,
across a worn checkered dancefloor.
No applause.

In a dining room of Astaire’s and Rogers
she is the coffee choreographer.  
Pirouetting to the ***,
then a sidestep, quick! Quick!
Slow.

Warming up now, she stretches.
Switching on the metal machinery.
It grinds and growls as if it prefers
decaf.

Rings from rusted bells
hanging from the door chime
to the beat. This is her
cue.
2.0k · Dec 2014
Maintenance Required
MC Hammered Dec 2014
Do not follow skewed signs,
logic leads
home.
-
Somber skies ******
desolate drives.
Surrender to sunset.
Tonight time is
infinite.
Lone hills roll
endlessly.
Sold
souls in exchange
for open
roads.
-
"MAINTENANCE REQUIRED"
Stop,
for nothing.
1.9k · Feb 2013
Acceptance.
MC Hammered Feb 2013
You couldn't possibly
accept

my intuition of
you.

Intricately weaved into my
benevolence.

To me you seemed sincere and
candy-coated.

Your eyes gleamed too prominently of an untouched type of
innocence.

As a huntress, with one agile
manipulation

of the gale beneath my
wings

I could have forever reformed your
fate

I respect who you are too
much

too much to value your
attractive

but-not-so-much intriguing chemical
attributes

Your underlying hopes and
dreams

through feats of meaningless
lust

and future out-of-spite
clashing

I saved you the soul mind and body
ache

of being broken and tossed
beyond

my most selfless
act

is something
you

couldn't possibly
accept.
1.8k · Feb 2014
Observing Change.
MC Hammered Feb 2014
Lying in an
                                                                ­                                                unfamiliar
bed I
study
each fold in
dated posters,
tacked
to
foreign
walls.

My eyes
                                                                ­                                                            dart
from
left
to
right.

Not
focusing
on one
                                                                ­                                                     obscure
decoration
for
long.

Strange clothes
strewn
across
                                                                ­                                                  awkward
purple carpet
begin to
ridicule
me.

                                                            ­                                                       Different
books
sitting
on
half
dusty
shelves.


                                                     ­                                                                 ­     New
vinyls in the
old
player
join.

Packed bags,
boxes
from a
comfortable
time
                                                            ­                                                              loo­m
around
corners of the floor in
big
heaps.

I try to
tuck
myself farther
in
to
hide
                                                                ­                                                         away.
Like a turtle
attempting
to find
solace in a
familiar
shell.

Shrouding
my eyes from an
                                                                ­                                                  unknown
future.

I sink
in
closer
to sound
asleep,
same, old?
                                                            ­                                                               you.
1.8k · Dec 2014
Unacquainted.
MC Hammered Dec 2014
I am in love sunrises I have never
seen, with people,
unacquainted, in cities
unvisited.

Unfamiliar roads, pave paths to
Uncertainty.
Do not deny the moonlight,
reminder of yearning.
Homesick,
for a time never lived in, a place non existent,
unknown.

Rudely,
unacquainted.
I am in love with the person
I still have yet to
become.
1.7k · Aug 2014
Tell
MC Hammered Aug 2014
I know you won't, but don't dare say it.
I can tell.
When you're pushed up
against the small of my
back,
fingers wrapped around my neck,
breathing in my
smell.
1.6k · Dec 2014
New Orleans
MC Hammered Dec 2014
Dancing
underneath city lights,
jazz bands
reverberating, breathing in
voodoo shop
musk.

Soul
pulsates beneath
cobblestone,
wide eyes
peering up at
beaded balconies on
Frenchman Street.

Freedom is
coffee and baguettes from
Cafe Du Monde at
midnight,
surrounded by strangers.

Find me under strings of
flickering bulbs,
trading trails with
travelers.

Candlelit doorways illuminate the drifters, the curious, the backpackers,the Kerouacs,
the way to the gypsies past
Bourbon.

But not home.
1.6k · Mar 2017
Polka & 80's Punk
MC Hammered Mar 2017
Warming up like an electric orchestra,
the sound of your dad’s band practice seeped
through the vents from the basement.
Drums vibrated from the floor into my feet,
And we tapped our toes together,
thump thump thump.

Drowning out the 80’s punk, your mom
plays polka in the kitchen, making pasta. I stand
over the sauce stained stove watching the *** of water
sizzle to accordion cries and the idea of clogs. We sway
from side to side. Your hands hang off my hips.

Retreating, back to your blue room, we wait
for the wafting smells of garlic, grilled onions and
peppers to call us for dinner. You pull out your
keyboard, a pen, a pad. Pressing buttons, I hear
synthesizers and song samples through your
headphones. We smile, bobbing our heads in sync,
Bump, bump, bump.

~

Finding myself in a foreign living room,
I am alone. The TV is on mute and a “motivational”
speech muffles through his speakers. There are no
basement bands. No pasta, no polka, or clogs and cries.
Only sounds of silence. I press my feet against the floor.
I can’t hear the bumps, I can’t feel the thumps
1.6k · Feb 2013
Embodied.
MC Hammered Feb 2013
I was never
interested

in finding the
annotation.

The definition of
dreaming

isn't the words that
create

an exact
meaning

its the feeling of
honesty

that is
embodied

upon the
awakening

of something entirely, truly, and purely
you
1.5k · Apr 2014
Him.
MC Hammered Apr 2014
I always keep the sunroof
open.
Even on the cloudiest days.
I would not refuse
him.
So if he returns I will welcome his
warmth
with windows wide
open.


My skin as felt the
bitter
touch of being shut out
cold
but it never stopped missing the
goosebumps
his
sunrises
would bring.
1.5k · Mar 2017
Mother Earth,
MC Hammered Mar 2017
our celestial protector.
She cradles us in her branches and reaches
us towards the Sun. She fertilized us
as young seeds before the harvest. Feeding
us the fruits from her feet. We breathe in the oxygen
she filters through her brown barked body.
Suckle at her ******* for air.
Like our mother, we too are rooted
in soil, nourished, and nurtured by her
natural nutrition and her
natural

disasters. She,
throws us from her
branches, her skies grow grey.
Grow angry and sad. She starts to
cry, growling, thrashing and thundering.
Her winds whip us, whirl us we weave back and forth,
trusting the roots she gave to hold us
down in our foundations.
But the ground beneath our soles start to
shake and rumble. Soaked soil from Mother’s cries, turn
to mud, and our world starts to wash us away.  
She drowns us. Mother Earth,
our terrestrial
terrorist.
1.4k · Feb 2013
That Something.
MC Hammered Feb 2013
Its something about that
crack
 
of the morning 
solitude
 
Becoming one alongside the 
energy
 
conveyed upon every full, comforting gust of 
wind
 
with every frigid grain of sand
collected
 
in the burrows between your 
toes
 
How the proverbial crash and sizzle out of an alkaline 
wave
 
can intimately caress ones depth of
recollection
 
so swift and flirtatious, 
passionate.
 
Reflecting the honest 
actuality
 
Honorable substandard grotesque
indifferent
 
Reminding us that we can 
procure
 
tranquility within
pandemonium
 
perfection in chaos and
inadequacy 
 
an erie absence of inorganic
resonance
 
in an alone, but not lonely repose,
comfort
 
pending that
crack
 
of the morning
solitude.
1.4k · Nov 2016
Line Dancing With Lucifer
MC Hammered Nov 2016
Line Dancing with Lucifer

The breeze breathes like the Earth shares
the same pulse.
I trip down the rabbit hole,
but never fall.
The tingles tickle my toes.
I listen with my eyes.
Lucy isn’t in the sky with diamonds.
She’s passed out at the hotel bar.
I trip down the rabbit hole,
But always fall.
I am line dancing with Lucifer.
Erret. The record
scratches. If he likes the way
my hips sway, then
we don’t have to make a
deal. Adios,
amigo. I’m out of this hell hole.
(Literal hole leading from Hell)
The grass smells greener and
tastes taller on the
flipside. I walk on my hands everywhere
I go. Suga ****, you on your hands again?
You’ll marry a rich man
one day, they said.  He will
walk on two feet.
Barely bipedal.
EVOLUTION IS A LIE.
Que habla me nada.
The paintings started speaking soliloquies.
To be or not to be?
I don’t remember answering
the question.
I fall down the rabbit hole but
I never trip.
1.1k · Nov 2014
Save
MC Hammered Nov 2014
I save bottle caps, and dead lighters.
I save half finished cigarettes.
The colorful ends of incense sticks,
empty bottles from that night last week,last month,
last year.
I save every note passed,
out of service phone numbers,
rocks that find me.
I save old playlists.
I save CDs that are too scratched up to play anymore.
I save books found in abandoned buildings,
falling apart at the seams.
I save dead roses from that Valentines Day,
and dead hydrangeas from the following Summer.
I save the sand still stuck in my shoes.
I save Dad’s ring, Mom’s pendant.
One day I will save
Grandma’s gold cross.
I save the happy tears, the sad ones,
the unexplainable ones.
I save all the opportunities I never took,
all the ones I did.
I save his hazel eyes,
her brown ones.
I save the foggy mornings and
the rainy afternoons.
The seemingly endless nights with no place to be, nowhere to go.
I save the time.
I save the lonely car rides under falling leaves.
The silence.
I save the feeling of missing him,
and all the things I never got the chance to say.
I save the longing and the wallowing.
I save the strength that pain demands.
The gratification of a hard days work,
and calluses on hands.
I save the knowledge that I can’t have one
without the other.
~
I save everything I can catch with worn, weary hands,
everything that does not
slip between the
cracks of my
fingers.
1.0k · Nov 2014
Refuse
MC Hammered Nov 2014
No calm
before storm.
Leaving, I will not tip toe
to the back door.
Not wait until you're
asleep.
Let clack of heels
break deafening
silence.
Refuse you satisfaction,
of thinking this would be
easy.
I told you already,
I am not your sometimes,
time left, is
up.
949 · Nov 2016
Master Masochist
MC Hammered Nov 2016
Light give way not.
Harbinger of death,
time is. She sought
the scars yesterday's
sunsets burned and
brought. Pain demands
strength. Master
*******, cheated
calendars, and rewound
clocks. Nightlight savings,
an hour lost. Inevitably,
she was caught.
861 · Nov 2013
We.
MC Hammered Nov 2013
We.
We lay
mangled
in each others
embrace
of exhaustion.
Like vines
intertwining,
my head rests on your
chest.
I trace your
veins
with my
fingertips.
Out of breath, wielding a rosy
glow
painted on our
cheeks,
you wrap your
fingers
in a lock of my knotted
hair,
and I reach for
you
like flowers
breaking
through the
cracks
of a bitter
concrete
sidewalk,
making the inevitable
escape
for the warmth of the
sun.


Our skin,
exposed,
and
bare,
an accurate
representation
of how I  give every
atom
of myself to
you,
graciously, exclusively and
undaunted.
  Without any
reservation,
  or foreboding of
heartache.
I do not
question
your
affection
towards
me,
the shore never
doubts
the return
of each
crashing
wave.
801 · Nov 2013
Frigid.
MC Hammered Nov 2013
I am a frigid winter
morning.

I am the
icy chill holding your flesh
inseparable from mine.

I am the full frozen gusts
caressing
dead branches.

I am the gray shroud
hiding yesterdays
bright skies.

I am a frigid
winter morning.
761 · Oct 2016
Do Not.
MC Hammered Oct 2016
Do not worry, where.
Moon, find me.
Illuminate shadows
the sun could not
shake.
A million miles
away,
in a town unheard of.
On my way to a place
I’m not sure
exists.

Do not think of me.
I leave no trace of
myself.
Stars render the inability to guide,
when the darkness isn’t
quite dark
at all.
As long as I'm gone
I give myself to
the solace of
solitude.
Under the covers of
foggy back roads,
searching for answers in
static stations.

Do not look for me.
Sun, you burn
sharp scars into my skin.
I bruised and broke until I thought I
believed.
Only to discover
I did not.
Do not believe, do not believe,
me.
Do not.
725 · Oct 2016
Stained Sheets
MC Hammered Oct 2016
Incense smoke lingers heavily in the air,
attempting to mask the smell of stale beer
and spilled **** water.
Arrest warrants hang with straight A report cards
and dated paintings I used to call art.

You and I, woven in between soft and stained sheets
on my hand-me-down mattress.
Our clothes, thrown into heaps on the floor.
I stare at faded, falling posters while you trace my scars
left by a pair of hands before yours.

Buddha watches over dusty photo albums and
half read books I will never finish as
Mary hangs off your neck
watching over an unfinished me.

We lay underneath burned out bulbs of ceiling
string lights listening to scratched CDs skip,
sharing a sweet cigarette.
I know you and I are not forever.
like these walls I have                                                          out­grown.
693 · Nov 2013
Green Papers.
MC Hammered Nov 2013
Capable of
greatness,
great change.
Possibilities, endless.
Remember it is not the end
yet.

Forgotten to
exist.
Figure what was missed. Instead,
dismissed. No truth.
Settle to spew blame,
aimless.

Greed overcomes.
Runs.
Leaves an abundance of corrupted
potential, funding
false fronts.

We have power,
still we cower to
shadows of skyscrapers,
in the wake of green
papers.
673 · Mar 2017
Mic Drop
MC Hammered Mar 2017
You stole my voice, but I let
you lock it away. Behind neck kisses,
lazy Sundays, and “who’s texting yous.”
Don’t worry baby,
I found it between the cracks
of your fingers, wrapped
around my neck, you tried to stop
the word *****.  Nice try.
You can’t mute
me. Watch me throw up,
watch me wail.
Your ego is deafening, as if you were afraid
of mine being louder than yours.
Well, I’m ******* screaming,
and I hope your ear drums shatter.
Perfect perforation.  
You can’t shush me.
My voice is not cracking,
*****, did I stutter?
Nope.

But, no hard feelings, right? ’Cause this
new dude says he likes it when I
scream.
668 · Mar 2017
Jack Dawson,
MC Hammered Mar 2017
I don’t care that my parents don’t
like you, because the way your unruly
blonde-brown hair matches the way your *****
pants sag makes the buttons on my corsets
and 100 button boots pop,
onebyonebyonebyonebyonebyone.
I’ll meet you in the backseat of that Coupe De Ville
in the cargo hold. You can rev my engine,
and leave handprints on
more than just the back window. You can
show me how to spit off the bow of
The Titanic but, I can show
you how I …
I have only known you for one day,
but these last 24 hours have felt like a
lifetime. If for some reason this ship
hits an iceberg or something
and we find ourselves clinging
to half a door lost in debris
THERE WILL BE ROOM FOR TWO.
Jack Dawson,
I will never let you go.
662 · Dec 2014
Real?
MC Hammered Dec 2014
The world is flat.
Mr. Sandman told me so.
I was dreaming.
I asked if
black was forever?
Next to me, he wearily sat.
Replying, time
is not real. Nothing is.
Everything is not.
Roses have thorns,
bleeding black,
upon puncture, *******.
Darkness is not forever.
Forever is not this.
This, is not
everything.

Evolution is real.
Mr. Jesus told me so,
upon addition to
purgatory.
Regrets are not real,
nothing is.
Everything is not.
Sir! Sir! But sir! What about the way
I feel?!
Summer does not last.
Last is not least.
Were you the missing
puzzle piece?

On my own. I am whole. I am, I am.
Quiet little voices said so. They
crept in with monsters,
like demons can.
They lied to my eyes,
to my guilty demise.
You weren't real.
Neither was I.
Is it how we
feel?
Nothing is.
Everything is not.
This is not
real.
560 · Nov 2016
You, Me and Her.
MC Hammered Nov 2016
Intentions intertwined,
woven between wrinkles in beach blankets.
Underneath the glow of revolving lighthouse beams.
A taste of hops drips from your lips.

Your fingers tangled in mine.
Your mind tangled with hers.
Our tongues tangled together.

Miscommunicated body language hangs off your hands,
hugging my hips.
You, stuck between skinny dipping in the swells,
and scared of getting a little sandy.

She calls.
535 · Nov 2016
You Burned Mom's Pictures
MC Hammered Nov 2016
You always try to break out of your crib.
Spend childhood somewhere between land
and water. Save shells. Dig up dead animal
bones. Hide them. Blow bubbles with
now absent brother.

Fall. A lot.
Fall. Fall. Fall. Pick the scabs.
Break open again. Pick.
Repeat until scarring is complete.
“Rub some dirt on it.”

Dad tells you that everything dies
someday. So you find comfort in all things
morbid. You want to be an archaeologist.
He shows you The Doors, The Beatles,
The Who. You are raised right.

Chase the handsome boys around
during recess. Teach yourself how to
read. Secretly peek at encyclopedias.
The anatomically correct bodies
in the back. Hide them. Giggle with the boys.

Travel to Vietnam with your mom.
Understand your spirituality while climbing
thousands of feet to temple. Understand
your culture and where you came from.  
But you still don’t know who you are.

Write stories. About everything. Illustrate them.
Collect fossils, crystals and minerals. Spend
Sunday mornings eating ice cream and playing Xbox.
Pass notes with the boy. You play softball, because
he plays baseball.

Watch MTV. Dad said not to. Tilt your head at
Music videos. Hide them when
he walks by. Sneak Mom’s makeup
so you look like the girls in the
videos. You don’t.


Stuck in Old Saybrook, Connecticut. Still.
You try to wiggle your way into your identity. So you
always evade parental supervision. Stop
testing the waters and begin full fledge fleeing
into the swells.
Meet boys, like them, kiss them. Love one.
You fight. You steal a little. You lie a lot.
Stay up. Sneak out. Get caught. Do
drugs, hide them. You are way too young.
You are 13.

Skinny dip. Sell ****. Make honor roll.
Create your secret life. Decide you know
everything. But you learn it all the hard way.
You get arrested. You decide you
don’t know anything at all.

Get expelled. Your secret life is
not so secret.
You learn your way around
the razor blade from the medicine cabinet.
You aren’t who you thought you were.

Attend mandated therapy, community service, tutoring.
Drug test. Court date. Drug test. Court date.
Regret nothing. Except for
making Mom cry. The boy comes over
to share pineapple pizza. Your favorite.

Decide you want to be better. You
cut the ****. Your report cards still
marked with A’s. This is your ticket back
into the school system. You get your first job.
Pass your last drug test.

You scuba dive. You travel. You meet new people.  
Cover your walls with art, and maps. Fill your bookshelves.
Inherit Mom’s reading habit. Live by Dad’s movie collection.
You write. You graduate High School.
You get three more jobs.

Old Saybrook, Connecticut. You’ve spent your
life somewhere between the land and water. You collect fossils, save shells,
pick scabs and skinny dip. You try to wiggle your way into your identity.
You visit the boy on Thursdays. You hate MTV. You are 20 now.
You regret nothing, other than making Mom cry.
396 · Sep 2014
2:30 am
MC Hammered Sep 2014
I am not your sometimes.
I am the traces of solace on unlit dirt roads.
I am the bottom of the bottle.
I’m the last drag of your last cigarette,
tasting me on your lips
long after disposal.
I am the empty space on your chest.
I am the cold chill of change, the goosebumps too.
I am the deafening silence in mists of chaos.
I’m the illuminating moonlight,
hiding alone and in the dark.
until morning returns.

~

You are the the book I throw across the room
then hours later pick up again
to leaf through your pages.
  You are not my sometimes.
348 · Oct 2016
Writers Block
MC Hammered Oct 2016
Where were you when words
wandered?
Without warning,
waxing.
Growing stronger.
Stop shaking
sentences, peeling pages,
purging up word
*****.

Where were you when I needed
you?
Voice shaking,
I'm sweating.
Surrender to similes,
and the soliloquies.

My words, they
squander.

— The End —